


Until the Hour of Separation

by PockySquirrel



Category: Kamen Rider Kuuga
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PockySquirrel/pseuds/PockySquirrel
Summary: Godai leaves. This time, Ichijou goes after him.(Post-series; spoilers apply. CW for depression and aftermath of canonical trauma.)





	Until the Hour of Separation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gingayellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingayellow/gifts).



> I'm not sure how I've loved Kuuga as much as I do for as long as I have and somehow managed to not write any fic for it until now, but I'm glad to have had the opportunity. Thanks to Mara for her inspirational spirit and mad beta-ing skills.

“I wanted to tell you something. I want to tell everyone, actually, but I wanted you to be the first to know.”

Godai’s shoulders were squared and stiff; his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His head was lowered just enough for his shaggy bangs to obscure his eyes, just enough that Ichijou couldn’t manage to meet his gaze. And Ichijou wasn’t alarmed, not quite, but he couldn’t manage to swallow back the lump in his throat either.

“What is it?”

“After I’m done...after Number Zero is defeated,” Godai was quick to clarify, but neither of them missed the other meaning, the other possible outcome hiding in the shadow of his words. “...I’m leaving.”

Ichijou nodded. It wasn’t a surprise, really. Godai was more selfless than any man he’d ever met, but every now and again he still slipped and revealed a glimpse of his desires. And as the months dragged on and the battles persisted, relentless, stretching Godai to the limits of his endurance, Ichijou saw those glimpses more frequently. No matter how many other things he did and no matter how many other roles he played, Godai was, first and foremost, an explorer. It was in his nature, ingrained so deeply that wandering might as well be as vital to his survival as the air in his lungs. He was made to travel wherever he could, meet whoever he could, learn whatever he could, and the responsibility he carried along with Kuuga’s power was a shackle around his neck; a chain that weighed him down and kept him from straying too far. He was trapped in Japan for however long it took, and Ichijou suspected the inability to move took as much a toll on him as the fighting itself.

“I’m sorry,” Godai added when Ichijou was silent a second too long.

“Don’t be. You’ve earned it,” Ichijou said, and he meant every word, but the look on Godai’s face suggested he didn’t believe it. ‘You’re allowed to protect your own smile, too,’ he thought to add, but didn’t. Ichijou himself had bristled against that sentiment often enough, and Godai was enough like him in enough of the ways that matter that he knew those words weren’t ones he’d want to hear.

Instead he asked, “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet. Someplace quiet.” Godai tilted his head back, and his eyes tracked across the rooftops of the towering buildings that surround them. Searching for something, perhaps longing for it. “Someplace where the sky is wide open, and you can see the whole horizon.”

“And you plan to go right away?”

“As soon as it’s over. Yes.”

There was something in the way he said it that seized on Ichijou’s fears, his own rare pangs of selfishness, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Will you come back?”

Godai looked at him then, his expression open, his surprise obvious. All at once, the tension seemed to drain out of him. Warmth crept into his eyes, soft but radiant, and his smile was easy.

“Of course I will.”

And it was only then that Ichijou felt his heart begin to sink. Because for all the times he’d heard that reassuring tone in Godai’s voice, all the times he’d heard him say things were okay when they were anything but, this was the first time he’d looked Godai in the eyes and felt like he was being lied to.

***

When Godai went, it didn’t occur to Ichijou to follow. He had never been much for travel; he got his passport more out of a sense of prudence than anything else, a ‘just in case’, and although it was up-to-date, it had never been stamped. Godai told him dozens of stories during their time together, of different places he’d gone and things he’d seen, and some piqued Ichijou’s interest, but none ignited in him the sort of longing to see for himself, to pack up and go, that Godai seemed to experience so constantly. Ichijou was as accustomed to staying in one place as Godai was to constant motion, and once the Grongi were gone, his life went back to normal. So normal that his own memories of that year felt surreal by comparison, more like a vivid dream than something he actually lived through. 

Godai was real in those memories, something solid and tangible, but in this life, he was a ghost. He had vanished so completely that he might as well have never existed at all.

As prepared as Ichijou thought he was, the reality of Godai’s departure was a bitter pill to swallow. The decision to leave was one he both understood and respected. Godai had loved his life as an adventurer. Ichijou had witnessed his grief when that life was lost to him. And returning to it was a reward well earned, a repayment for all he had sacrificed in becoming Kuuga. Ichijou didn’t begrudge Godai’s absence, but struggled to accept his nonexistence. And to his dismay, he found himself alone in that. Not alone in missing Godai; far from it. But alone in being bothered by how thoroughly _gone_ he was.

Nobody knew where Godai went when he slipped away, snuck out of the hospital one last time as soon as he was healed enough to walk. Nobody had heard from him. Ichijou kept in touch with the task force, and with Godai’s other friends, enough to be certain. Godai’s name came up often when they spoke, and they wondered together where he might have gone. Sometimes, the others talked about him like he never left at all. Sometimes, they spoke of him like he had died. Both felt appropriate, though neither was the truth. 

He first confessed his fear to Sakurako, over a mug of mediocre coffee from that diner Godai had passed out in after his first battle. She had listened to him, attentive, but unworried.

“This is how he’s always been,” she explained. “He’ll disappear for ages with no word, and then out of nowhere he’ll call, or send a postcard or a souvenir. It’s like he can sense when someone’s worried about him, so I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon.”

A few more months of incessant nothingness after that, Minori told him the same thing. It was not the first time they’d told him to have faith in Godai, to put his doubts aside. Last time, they were right, and Ichijou tried to remind himself of that. It did nothing to ease his mind. 

When he started looking, he wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for, or even how it occurred to him to try. But he found himself scanning the news, scrolling through articles online, looking for some kind of a sign. Part of him hoped he wouldn’t find it, because he knew it wouldn’t be Godai he found. Godai was a man; he could easily vanish into anonymity among billions of others. Kuuga could not. Godai would reappear if Kuuga did, and Ichijou felt ashamed of the part of himself that wanted that to happen just so Godai would exist for him again. It was an unacceptably selfish thing to want when he knew, all too well, exactly what Kuuga’s reappearance would mean, and what it would cost. Godai had intended the battle on the mountain to be his last, and hoped fervently that the world would never need Kuuga again. Ichijou shared that hope, wanted Godai to have the peaceful future he deserved. Even if that meant they never saw each other again, Ichijou wanted that for him. As convoluted and conflicted as his thoughts about Godai were these days, they always led back to that one certainty. Godai deserved to be at peace. 

But that still didn’t stop Ichijou from looking. 

***

After awhile, checking around for news of Kuuga became part of Ichijou’s routine. The cycle of hope-dread-guilt that had at first accompanied the activity faded into an emotionless monotony as he got used to it. He got used to looking, and he got used to finding nothing. 

The moment he found something, instead of the nothing to which he had become so accustomed, his heart froze in his chest and his mind went blank.

It was a small, low-res photo embedded in an article from the United States, regarding a fire that had broken out under suspicious circumstances. Kuuga was there, in the shadows thrown by the blaze, barely visible, but Ichijou could make out the silhouetted shape of his armor, his horns. He was out of practice at reading English, so he read every line of the article with care. The cause of the fire was still under investigation. There were a few injuries - burns and smoke inhalation - but no deaths. No one seemed to have seen Kuuga there, or if they had, they hadn’t reported it. 

Ichijou decided - immediately, impulsively, wholly uncharacteristically - that he needed to go there.

There was every reason not to. Maybe this was his mind playing tricks on him, and that wasn’t Kuuga in the photo at all. Even if it was, there was no guarantee Godai would still be there by the time he arrived. And most of all, Ichijou knew he would most likely be going against Godai’s wishes by going after him. If he wanted contact with Ichijou, with any of them, he would have reached out by now. But the feeling that he needed to go, needed to see for himself, wouldn’t be denied. And Ichijou found himself making plans.

His captain gave him a long, hard look when he put in his leave request, signed his approval without even reading it, and said, “It’s about time.”

Apparently, the length of time since Ichijou had last taken a personal day could be measured in years. He had lost track. His colleagues were not only supportive, but relieved to see him take what they believed to be a simple vacation. They had worried he would burn himself out like so many other good, dedicated officers before him. Ichijou couldn’t fathom what ‘burning out’ would feel like. Wondered if, perhaps, he already had.

He didn’t tell any of Godai’s friends where he was going, or why. He didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily. When, and if, it turned out they would be needed, he would tell them then.

***

It took a full day of travel - give or take a few time zones - two layovers, and one crowded and thoroughly unpleasant bus ride for Ichijou to reach his destination. By the end of it, he felt grimy and exhausted, and the jet lag had manifested as a dull, throbbing headache that was boring into his skull like a slow drill between the eyes. But he felt restless as well, and his desire to sleep warred with his desire to immediately set to work. He compromised with himself by pausing long enough for a cup of coffee and a shower in his hotel room before starting his investigation.

There was only so much he could do, this far out of his jurisdiction, and with no ‘official’ reason to be here, he couldn’t rely on the cooperation of his American counterparts. But he had immediate access to more, and better, information than he had in Japan. The local news was covering the events that lured him here in much more detail, and the first thing he found out was that it hadn’t just been one fire. Altogether, there had been four. 

The most recent was last night. Ichijou had missed it, and he couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened had his flight gotten in just a few hours sooner. 

He went out after that, unwilling to take the chance of missing something else.

The town wasn’t large at all, quaint with its low buildings sided in wooden shingles. Most of the businesses were locally owned, and many of them were closed down for the season. This place boomed with tourism in the summer, but being situated in America’s northeast, it was too cold to make for an attractive destination year-round. The neighboring Atlantic churned with the vague threat of an early winter storm; the air was damp and smelled of salt. The sky was slate-gray and sunless, but there was a lot of it, with no tall trees or skyscrapers to get in its way.

Ichijou wondered if this was the sort of place Godai would like.

He felt like he was working a new beat for the first time as he walked the streets, striking up conversation where he could. The locals figured him for a visiting businessman, assumed he was asking about the fires out of concern that he had accidentally ventured to an unsafe place. He listened to their reassurances and didn’t correct them. 

Despite the circumstances, it did feel peaceful here.

His path took him off the main drag and toward the beach. Sand dusted the sides of the road, and he could hear waves crashing in the distance. There were few people out here, in this weather. An old man, stubbornly wielding a metal detector. A young woman taking photographs of the dunes. And a thin, dark-haired figure standing near the end of a crumbling stone jetty, fishing.

Wait.

It couldn’t be that easy, Ichijou thought, pace quickening in spite of himself as he headed for the jetty. Not after all this time, not when he believed Godai didn’t want to be found. And yet…

He stopped near the water’s edge, where the neat path gave way to a wall of piled, haphazard, weather-worn stones, and his voice rang out over the sound of waves breaking on rock.

“Godai Yusuke!”

The figure turned slowly, cautiously, to face him. From this distance, his expression was unreadable. His hair was longer now, tied mostly back save for where the wind had caused a few strands to escape and flutter around his face. And there was something different in the way he carried himself, devoid of that same energy Ichijou remembered and expected. But it was him, and that was all that mattered. 

He reeled in his fishing line, picked up his bag, and walked down the jetty toward Ichijou, unhurried but unbothered by the treacherous unevenness of the slick rocks beneath his feet. Ichijou watched his face as he approached. He looked absolutely dumbfounded, and understandably so, but also deeply and profoundly tired. His eyes were red-rimmed and dark, and Ichijou wondered when he had last slept. 

“How did…?” Godai began, and thought better of it. “Why are you here?” he asked instead.

Ichijou’s thoughts clamored with about fifty possible ways to answer that question. Because he had been worried? Because he knew Godai had lied to him, had never intended to come back to Japan at all? Because he had _missed_ Godai, damn it, missed him so much it had eaten a hole straight through him, and he couldn’t live with the thought of never seeing him again?

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Ichijou blurted out. 

‘This’ could have referred to so many things. Godai flinched as if the words were a slap to the face, recognizing every single one of them.

“I never thought you’d find me,” Godai confessed.

“You underestimated me.”

“No, I knew you could. You can do anything you set your mind to. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“I’ve wanted to since the second you left.” It was embarrassing to be this honest, and Ichijou felt his ears burning, hot against the cold wind. But there was no sense in hiding his feelings now, not when he didn’t know if he’d ever get another chance. “I waited because you made it clear when you left, you didn’t want anyone coming after you.”

“I didn’t. But you’re here anyway.”

“Yes, I am.”

For a long moment, they were both silent. The damp air felt stifling, and Ichijou coughed, clearing his throat.

“I was always alone on my adventures before,” Godai explained, answering a question Ichijou hadn’t asked. “I wanted things to be the way they were before.”

“But it’s not the same,” Ichijou replied, somewhere between an observation and an accusation.

“No,” Godai admitted. “It’s not.”

His hand strayed to his waist; a subtle movement, but one Ichijou noticed nonetheless. 

“You had to transform again?” It was only half a question.

Godai nodded. “We thought Daguva had killed all the others, but some escaped, and decided to start a new game after he died. I’m the target, this time. They’ve been hunting me...I don’t know for how long. They followed me here.”

“And the fires?”

“Bait.” Godai’s mouth twisted on the word, and anger lit a fire in his shadowed eyes. “The object wasn’t to harm people, but they knew that threatening humans would lure me out.”

“Are they gone?”

“Yes. The ones I know of, anyway.”

He sounded defeated, so much so that it grated hard against Ichijou’s memories of who Godai was, how he was supposed to be. He stepped closer to Godai without thinking about it, wanting to shield him, knowing he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Ichijou said, lamely. 

“Don’t be.” At last, there was a hint of a smile on Godai’s face again. It was faint and sad, but the knot in Ichijou’s chest loosened when he saw it. “I still believe what I told you before, you know.”

Ichijou knew what he meant. He had replayed that conversation in his head countless times. 

“You still don’t regret becoming Kuuga.”

Godai’s expression brightened just a bit more. “You remembered.”

“Godai Yusuke, did you honestly think I would forget?”

He laughed at that, soft but genuine. “No, never. I was the one who was having a hard time remembering it. But I think...seeing you again, that’s a pretty good reminder.”

“Then you should come home,” Ichijou suggested. It felt like a less selfish demand, now that he knew it would help Godai too. “Not forever; I know how you are. But long enough to refresh your memory.”

The clouds fell over Godai’s face again, and his smile vanished. “I think I want that. A lot more than I thought I’d want it. But I can’t leave just yet. I have to make sure there aren’t any hunters left. I don’t want them to follow me back home and hurt people there.”

“Of course,” Ichijou said, understanding. “If that’s the case, then I’ll stay.”

Godai, in his shock at hearing that, dropped his fishing pole. It fell onto the sand with a soft thump. 

“You’ll _what?_ ”

“I meant what I said,” Ichijou continued. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone. So I’ll stay here until you can leave, and we’ll go back together.”

“But...you can’t just leave? What about your work?”

“I have the time. Frankly, I think they’d cheer me on if I told them I decided to extend my ‘holiday’ a bit longer. I want to do this, Godai. If you’ll let me.”

Godai bent to pick up the fishing pole. He brushed the sand off of it, then wiped his hand off on his jeans before reaching forward to take Ichijou’s hand in his. Ichijou looked down, as if the sight of Godai’s fingers laced through his was something mesmerizing. Even with the chill in the air, Godai’s skin was amazingly warm. 

“Let you?” he echoed. “Ichijou...I don’t think I’d have the heart to turn you away.”

Ichijou smiled a little at that, and dared to give Godai’s hand a little squeeze. They walked away together, turning their backs to the thrashing sea.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone was curious, they ended up in Orleans, Massachusetts.


End file.
